


Teacherly Concerns

by RavenclawDanosaur



Series: Wincest Drabbles [2]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenclawDanosaur/pseuds/RavenclawDanosaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's second grade teacher inadvertently sends Sam on the path to Stanford. Or just away from his father. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teacherly Concerns

**Author's Note:**

> This is another oneshot. I don't own anything except Mrs. Robertson, and she's not that interesting. Happy reading!

Mrs. Robertson, of Lincoln Grammar School, was worried.  
Mrs. Robertson was extremely worried, and it all started about two weeks ago.  
Two weeks ago, when her second grade English class got a new student, by the name of Sam Smith.  
Oh, the boy himself was a delight to have in class. He’d skipped first grade, so he was incredibly bright and perceptive. Sam’s grades were consistently the best in the class. He was friendly and respectful and kind. Mrs. Robertson expected him to fit into the classroom well enough, and he would have. Sam would’ve risen up in the classroom hierarchy at an incredible rate, were it not for one tiny issue.  
His brother, Dean Smith.  
Dean was in the 5th grade at this point- four years and three grades ahead of his younger brother.   
Dean dropped by her classroom multiple times a day- to drop Sam off in the morning, peeking in from the hall after first period, escorting Sam to and from lunch, and picking him up to walk home. Dean was simply always there. That in itself wasn’t that worrying- overprotective brothers were a dime a dozen, even if Dean was a little overboard. No, what worried her was how Sam acted around Dean. Around, with, and whenever his brother was mentioned, Sam just seemed to glow. The kid radiated joy, without fail, every time that Dean was around. In fact, Sam was so focused on his brother and his studies that his classmates just faded into the background. Sam took no interest in them. There was just something separating him from his peers.  
Mrs. Robertson probably wouldn’t have concerned herself with it, were it not for a conversation she had overheard. Between Sam and a girl named Lindsey.  
“Sammy, why doesn’t your mommy drop you off at school, like the other mommies? You don’t go on the bus and kids who don’t go on the bus get driven by their mommies,” Lindsey asked innocently, as if she hadn’t just asked a potentially traumatizing question. Mrs. Robertson froze in her place, just around the corner.  
“I don’t have a mom.”  
“But everyone has a mom, Sam.” She sounded exasperated, as if Sam was just being stubbornly stupid.  
“Well I don’t.” Sam’s voice was laced with forced nonchalance. Mrs. Robertson’s heart broke a little bit. He was such a polite, well-mannered boy. It was a shame his mother wasn’t around to see it.  
“Do you have two dads? I know some people have two dads.”  
“No. Just one dad. And Dean.” Sam coughed uncomfortably.  
“And no mom.”  
‘Oh my gods, just shut up Lindsey,’ Mrs. Robertson prayed.  
“So, who cooks the food and cleans the house and fixes cuts and stuff and who drives you to school and who washes your clothes and makes sure you’re warm and who kisses you goodnight? That’s what mom’s do.”  
“But I don’t have a mom. I mean, I did once. I guess.”  
“You guess? How can you not know,” Lindsey marveled, horrified.  
“I was real little. Dad doesn’t talk about her much, but Dean says she died in a house fire.” Mrs. Robertson almost stepped forward right there and scooped the boy into her arms. But she was too curious for that.  
“But then who does all of that stuff for you?”  
“Well, my brother. He’s real good at all of that stuff. We eat macaroni and cans of stuff and poptarts. Dean always knows where to get me stuff, even if we don’t have the money for it. And he stops me from getting hurt. He protects me from everything, and he always will. He walks me to school, too, ‘cause my dad is too busy working to drive us. Dean is better at that stuff than any mom!”  
“Nu-uh! Only moms do that stuff. Nobody else has their brother do that, ‘cause they’re not supposed to. Moms are supposed to do that stuff. My mommy makes monsters go away. Does your Dean do that? No, ‘cause he’s not a mom!”  
“Dean is too better! He isn’t just my brother! He’s the best brother. He’s a mom and a brother and a best friend all in one Dean.” Sam said indignantly. “He kills the monsters, and he’s gonna show me how to do that to! When I’m bigger! He said!”  
“Oh yeah! How do you kill a monster, doofus? You can’t, ‘cause they’re too strong. Mommy says that you have to keep them away with love and smiles.”  
“Well, your mom’s stupid! Dean teached me all about monsters. Some you gotta burn them and some you gotta take off their heads and some only guns with silver bullets work and some you gotta stab in the heart with a bloody stick!”  
That, obviously, was when Mrs. Robertson decided to intervene. She turned the corner and prattled on about how they needed to get to class, trying to keep her voice light and unconcerned.  
That happened four days ago. The next day, she sent a note home with Sam, asking his guardian to call her- or better yet, come in for a conference- by Thursday.  
So there was Mrs. Robertson, pacing in her own damn room on Friday night, running through her options. She could dial the number on Sam’s record. She could grill Sam for information on Monday (except for the fact that he hadn’t showed up to school since she sent home the note, no explanation). Or she could just ignore the issue, as some other teachers would have done.  
But Mrs. Robertson wasn’t that kind of teacher. She was a mother of six and a grandmother of three (for now), with an empty nest and warm heart. And Sam was the kind of boy that she wanted to protect. With a little nurturing, he would become a righteous, opinionated little bugger. He would go places. And hopefully, he’d never lose that quiet sense of self that anyone could feel even now. The one that said,” I know what I stand for, and I will do what I have to in order to uphold it.”  
She could see why Dean was so protective of him. She could even see why Dean had told Sam that he could kill monsters. But things had gone just a little too far, Sam was too invested in this story and the violence and the hero worship that went with it.  
So, her mind was made up. A phone call to Mr. John Smith it was.

 

Fifty miles (and growing) away, John Winchester, fresh from a hunt, was lecturing his youngest son.  
“Don’t draw attention to yourself like that, Sammy. How am I supposed to be able to trust you enough to go on hunts. You know I have to go Sam, don’t give me that look. I save people. You just need to keep your mouth shut, Sammy. Only for a few weeks at a time, then we can move on. I can’t just pick up mid-hunt and ditch town. “John’s voice was weary, but left no room for argument. Sam was tucked into his brothers side in the backseat of the Impala. His eyes were adverted, trying to avoid looking into the car mirror, along his fathers eyes.  
“Dean, do something about this. Talk to him. He doesn’t listen to me much anymore.”   
At this, Dean tensed and Sam’s eyes snapped to the mirror. He was blatantly glaring now. But his mouth stayed shut.  
It wouldn’t stay this way for long. Mrs. Robertson was right; Sam would certainly bloom with age. He’d form his own opinions and stick up for what was right. In fact, it would be his biggest dream to become a lawyer. A dream that started when he was fifteen, the first time he got into a screaming match with his father. He had been complaining, as usual, about their constant movement. It was practically a tradition by now, and his father responded the same way he always did- with practiced and tense amusement.  
Only this time, Dean jumped into the conversation. With one small sentence. Not even very important.  
“Maybe we should settle down.” At his father’s surprised look, he hurried to add, “Just for a few months, this time-maybe finish out Sam’s school year.”  
“Drop it, Dean. I thought you knew better.” It was the utterly dismissive tone that set Sam off. It was Deans defeated expression, that quickly hardened into an indifferent mask. It was the knowledge that he had Dean on his side, at least this time. He had someone other than himself- the most important someone- to defend.  
So he had screamed and pleaded and berated and insulted his father. He hadn’t let John get a word it, just spewed a constant barrage of reasons to stay and a list of every single thing wrong with their lives.  
That set Sam on the fast track to Stanford. To success. Away from the dreaded Family Business.  
A road that started with one note home from one school from one of the many cities he’d lived in. A road that started with Mrs. Robertson, whether she knew it or not.


End file.
